


Steady Pull

by kinkshamegame



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor Clarke, F/M, Police Officer Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkshamegame/pseuds/kinkshamegame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having been told many times that he needs to work on his mannerisms and anger issues (by his equally aggressive sister), Bellamy is now working on being more of a patient pacifist. His efforts prove futile when he meets a particularly infuriating blonde and she somehow becomes central to his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke sat in her corner of the coffee shop, reveling in the privacy and seclusion of her usual spot. Her anatomy textbooks spread across the stained wood tabletop, her brightly colored pens stacked in a neat pile beside her nearly empty mug of warm coffee, and her light blonde hair fanned over her pale shoulder. Her shoulders were revealed by her floral tank top and a thin strap lay lazily off her shoulder, forgotten in her focus. 

Her cell phone vibrated noisily to the side of her books, angrily shaking against the hard tabletop and generating a most unpleasant noise. Her eyes did not flick to the phone. She kept her focus on the texts and diagrams before her.

Two tables over, a tall and handsome man glared at her. Her phone had been ringing intermittently and erratically all afternoon, and his patience was nearing its end.

Bellamy Blake didn’t consider himself a polite man. He was an attentive man, a good brother and a loyal friend, but he was not well known for his diplomacy. He considered it a great success that he had not already gone over to the woman and crushed her noisy phone in his bare hands. 

The noise abated, and Bellamy looked back to the book in his hands. He carefully unclenched his fingers, hoping to avoid crinkling the edges of the time-yellowed pages. He found his spot again easily, sinking back into the comfort of rereading one of his favorite books. His calloused fingers slid across the weathered pages with a soft shuffle, and he lost himself in the stories of ancient ti-

“Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.”

The harsh sound of crunching filling Bellamy’s ears as he ground his teeth. He fought back a sarcastic jab, reminding himself of Octavia’s reprimands from a conversation that took place a few days ago. He was already in poor standing with her after giving her latest, but already former, boyfriend, Atom, a less than warm reception. He needed to learn to be more tolerant, more patient, more ki-

“Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at his book, struggling to keep his fiery gaze off of the woman across the room. He tried to focus on the soothing atmosphere of the coffee shop instead.

The Dropship was close to Ark University’s campus and habitually alight with activity, but Bellamy visited late in the evening to avoid crowds. He had originally started coming here because his roommate, Nate Miller, worked as a part-time barista during their tenure as undergraduate students. Miller would offer him free coffee in exchange for Bellamy doing his reading in the shop, providing a welcome source of amusement when business got slow. The warm and welcoming ambiance became a second home to him, and he kept the small café in his routine still, years after Miller had moved on to a more fruitful career in postgrad. 

His life was often clustered and loud at the Precinct; his days filled with violently unpleasant criminals at their worst and unendingly droll administrative forms at their best. The calm of late nights at The Dropship was the best part of his week, and this rude woman was completely ruining it.

Bellamy rolled his shoulders and heard his neck crack. He took a sip from his iced coffee and turned the page with a gentle flick.

“Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.”

Bellamy clenched again.

“Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.”

Would it really be so bad if he just-

“Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.”

He found himself standing suddenly, his napkin holding his place in the book (even when angered, he would never fold the pages of a book. He was a grump, not a barbarian). He quickly passed the distance between their two tables and stopped just shy of her.

“Will you please, for the love of God, answer your fucking phone?” Bellamy towered over her, his arms crossed over his chest.

Clarke started at his sudden appearance, her eyes widening when she took in his imposing figure. She ignored the slight flutter of attraction she felt in her stomach, before meeting his angry eyes with her own exhausted ones.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She mumbled distractedly, turning over the phone in her palm to read the screen. The ten-digit string of an unknown number intrigued Bellamy, but only seemed to further dissuade Clarke from answering. She turned the phone back over on the table after rejecting the call.

Bellamy nodded stiffly, uncomfortable with her tepid response. He returned to his seat, feeling guilt stew in his stomach. He settled back into his chair, opened his book and stared at the page, his eyes unfocused and unseeing. Maybe Octavia was right. Maybe his confrontational instincts pushed him to be overly and unnecessarily aggressive.

He resolved to be kind to the clearly tired woman across from him, should she interact with him again. Assuaged by his decision, he shifted his attention back to his book.

“Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.”

“Fucking hell! Answer your goddamn phone or turn it off, Princess!” Bellamy snapped, his dark eyes hard. A voice, tucked away in the back of his mind, commented on the brevity of his new resolution of pleasantry, but he was overwhelmed by his instinctual annoyance.

The blonde did not respond, but gathered her things smoothly. She slid her books and pens into the white tote that hung over her shoulder. She rose from her chair gracefully, walking in the direction of the door. Coincidentally, he sat in the way.

He assumed that she was either scared of him, or passive aggressive in her exit. She didn’t keep eye contact when crossing the space between them, but she passed his table on her way out.

He watched her leave, stunned by both the intensity of his anger and the suddenness of her departure. He felt a few drops of liquid on the tips of his fingers but paid them no attention.

The door shut with a quiet snap. The bell rang cheerily, cutting through the thick silence that hung around Bellamy.

He turned back to his table after a moment and went to reopen his book, but was distracted by the light spattering of coffee across his tabletop. He started when he looked at his coffee.

Sitting completely submerged and innocent between ice cubes was her small black cell phone.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh my god, Bethany!” The shrill voice rang through the little coffee shop, breaking Bellamy’s treasured silence. “How could you possibly think that maroon looks good with navy?! I thought we went over this last year!” He turned just in time to see the girl’s strawberry blonde hair finish its flick across her shoulders, somehow miraculously not disturbing her fashionably slouched white beanie. Her small hands were hidden by fuzzy gloves, but they clutched her cup of coffee tightly.

 

Bellamy was incredibly pleased to note her coffee was in a ‘To-Go’ paper cup. However, he momentarily wished she held a mug so her wild gestures would result in her ugly mittens being soiled and her fingers burned. He smirked to himself at the thought of her squealing in pain, but then shook himself.

 

‘ _Be a good person, damnit. Don’t think about random strangers getting hurt._ ’ He smirked again. ‘ _No matter how satisfying. Stupid fuckwad._ ’

 

He turned his attention back to his wrinkled copy of _The Illiad_ , hoping to relax before his next shift. 

 

“Large black coffee, please.” His ears perked at the familiar voice. He turned slightly in his seat to see the pretty blonde from that unforgettable encounter a few days before. She was standing at the counter while waiting for her drink, her hip cocked slightly to the side and long curls fanned out across the back of her dark blue sweater. She hadn’t seen him yet, so he took his time assessing the young, yet cold, woman. 

 

Even if she had not distinguished herself by destroying her own cell phone (using his damn drink… He’d had to order another one once she’d left), she stuck out. Her peers in line were all turned towards one another, chatting happily, or captivated by their electronic devices. She stood alone, a vision with a lone sketchbook tucked beneath her arm. He wondered if she had simply not had time to purchase another phone, or perhaps she didn’t see the merit in investing in another device that faced imminent destruction. Did she destroy her own belongings often, or was that an exceptional afternoon for her as well? She seemed so casual about it.

 

Bellamy blinked, huffing when he realized how off track he had gotten in his curiosity, and decided to mind his own business. He was supposed to becoming more kind and moderate; he did not need to add a tempestuous and destructive blonde to his daily routine.

 

The next hour went fairly smoothly, the lunch hour crowd clearing out gradually like the tide it was. He eventually looked up from his pages, noting that the shop was empty, with the exception of the blonde. She sat a few tables away, her legs crossed, revealing a tempting glimpse of pale thigh. He let his eyes linger a few moments, never one to neglect opportunities that present themselves.

 

He started suddenly when her eyes flicked to his sharply. 

 

“Is my sketching too loud for you?” She regarded him cooly, letting her legs remain on display. He was struck by the depth of her ice blue gaze. Her disdain and dismissal were blatant and his own temper rose in challenge.

 

“What if it is?” He snarked. He could feel the tension coil in his upper back, ready to snap like the snake he was trying so hard not to be.

 

Her eyes sparked to life, furious that he had challenged her. She had expected him to be thrown off by her comment and leave her be. Her knuckles went white around her piece of charcoal, before she heard a slight crack. She broke their glare to look down at her ruined sketch, marred by the charcoal that had just crumbled in her hand. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, wiping her palm with a nearby napkin. 

 

She took in another deep breath, before shaking her head and flipping to the next page. She shouldn’t let this devastatingly handsome stranger bait her. She had more important things to do.

 

Bellamy huffed quietly to himself. He wanted to feel proud of his small victory, but only felt dissatisfaction.

* * *

The next time he entered the Dropship, before his shift, he was surprised to see his adversary behind the counter. She hadn’t noticed him yet, so he took his time to observe her. She looked quite comfortable with the dark grey apron, a few smudges of sugar and powder across her black t-shirt. Her blonde curls were pulled into a low ponytail, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were as soft as they looked.

 

He walked up cautiously, nervous that she might throw a scalding cup in his face. His hands hovered over the black countertop, ready to raise them in defense at any moment.

 

She turned to face him, and kept a neutral expression on her face. “Good morning, what can I get for you?” With her eyebrow raised expectantly and a stained tea towel swung over her shoulder, she looked the perfect mix of terrifying and welcoming. He felt as if he was either being led home or to the gallows.

 

“Black coffee, please. To go.” His voice was quiet in contrast to hers. “For Bellamy.”

 

She nodded, writing his order on the side of the cup, taking his money, and moving behind the counter. He stepped back to the unofficially determined waiting area.

 

A few orders later, he heard his name. He felt a slight shudder run down his back at hearing her smooth voice wrap around the curves of ‘Bellamy,’ but ignored it. He took the coffee from the counter, casting one last look to the blonde, already working on the next customer’s order.

 

Maybe he had misjudged her. Octavia must have been right about him, that his temper was poisoning his relationships and he was unnecessarily rude to people.

 

He would rip his papers once he sat down at his desk in the Precinct a half hour later, when his hand uncovered the pretty woman’s handwriting.

 

_‘Black Coffee for Bleached Asshole.’_


End file.
